


Why Don't You Take Me?

by emdop



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bath Houses, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Large Cock, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Rimming, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24310333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emdop/pseuds/emdop
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier hide in a closet from an angry royal. Things get spicy from there.Shameless smut
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 31
Kudos: 534





	1. I Didn't Know There was Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> the smut is in chapter two. As always Canon is the sandbox in which I play and historical facts are for Serious Writers, which I am not
> 
> The titles come from Juliet Simms' "Take Me"

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaskier repeats, speed walking through the mass of people gathered in the ballroom. He weaves between the milling groups of courtiers, trying his best to move fast while not attracting too much attention to himself. He glances over his shoulder to see Lord BallsForChin surveying the crowd; Jaskier would have tried to learn his name if he wasn’t a massive douche. Jaskier ducks behind a woman wearing a rather wide dress and disappears into a cluster of servants. 

Near the corner of the ballroom, Jaskier spots Geralt. Sweet Melitele, safety at last. Jaskier continues dropping expletives as he reaches Geralt, whose left eyebrow quirks, and drags him by the wrist out of the ballroom. Jaskier breaks into a run, forcing Geralt to take larger steps to keep up. In the distance behind them, the rumbles and shouts of Lord BallsForChin and his comrades floats down the hallway. 

Geralt stops, acting like an anchor to Jaskier’s ship. “What did you do?” He grumbles in a harsh whisper. 

More shouts come from their pursers and the distinct phrase of “find that bastard” makes it to them, loud enough for Jaskier to hear and then panic about.

“The usual. Fuck. We don’t have time for this. We have to hide,” he says, yanking the Witcher by his armor toward the nearest door. Shoving them both inside, Jaskier closes the door and slumps against it. It’s dark and quiet in the room and Jaskier can hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

“Witchers don’t hide,” Geralt says. Even in the darkness, Jaskier can sense the stiff lines of his shoulders and back. Clearly uncomfortable with the concept of hiding, Jaskier rolls his eyes at him. 

“Well, get used to it, because, I for one, don’t want to be turned into tomorrow’s soup.”

“They don’t make people soup here, they roast you with a little salt and pepper,” he says, monotone. Silence follows his comment. 

“Did you,” Jaskier starts, blinking and suppressing a smirk, “Did you just make a joke?”

“I have the intellectual capacity to do so.” The corner of his mouth upturns. 

“Amongst the grunting you’d never know,” Jaskier jests. “Dear Witcher, you always surprise me.”

“Maybe you aren’t as observant as you think you are.”

Jaskier invades the Witcher’s space and points a finger near his face. “You know that’s not true. Take it back.”

A scuffle and a shuffle of feet sounds in the hallway near the door and Jaskier spins, shutting his mouth tight. He stares at the door as if he can still see what’s happening out there. Muffled shouts bounce through the castle and it’s hard to tell if it’s from the party or those chasing them. Jaskier figures it’s best to stay silent and regrets his choice of hiding places; it’s way too close to the ballroom. Shadows block the small light coming from the crack at the bottom of the door. Someone must be standing on the other side. 

“Move back” he presses himself against Geralt, pushing him to move. 

“I can’t,” he growls, “This is a fucking closet.” The noise outside gets louder.

“Hush,” Jaskier hisses. Voices are audible now and they sneak between the door cracks. 

Jaskier recognizes Lord BallsForChin’s voice. “Fifty crowns for the man who finds that Witcher-fucker first and brings him to me.”

“Fear not, my lord,” a small weasel speaks. At least that’s what it sounds like to Jaskier. “His head will be yours by dawn. No one insults you without consequence.”

In a hushed tone, a voice that must belong to whoever is standing in front of the door, says, “Why anyone would risk their neck for a Witcher is beyond me.” Someone nearby makes a noise of agreement and Jaskier’s skin burns. If he wasn’t hiding, he’d put his boot up their asses.

“Alright, men, go find me that fucking bard!” Lord BallsForChin shouts. His men move and scatter, opening and closing doors, making a clatter. Jaskier’s heart squeezes and he backs further away from the door which means he’s fully pressed against Geralt. His eyes can’t peal themselves off the handle, waiting for it to turn. Sounds of more footsteps and jingly uniforms, weapons go on outside. Jaskier holds his breath. 

The knob turns. 

Light floods the closet and noise hammers in Jaskier’s ears. This is it. Guilt pools in his gut because he’s yet again put Geralt in the middle of a terrible situation out of his own recklessness. They’ll have even less mercy for him than they do Jaskier. He braces himself to be seasoned with salt and pepper and roasted over a fire, gripping Geralt’s trousers tight with his calloused fingers. 

“Hey, I think I saw them!” Someone shouts down the hallway. 

The mystery person pulls the door shut and scampers toward the shouter. 

Jaskier’s breath spills out of him while his heart pounds in his chest and his senses stop focusing on the threat. The Witcher's warmth soothes his panic. His hands are still fisted in Geralt’s pants; he lets go, wiping his sweaty palms on his own trousers. 

“Sorry ’bout that,” he whispers, still afraid they’ll get caught. 

Geralt remains silent and unmoving. He spins Jaskier so they’re face to face. His golden eyes focus on him, tracing, looking for something Jaskier doesn’t know. “You lied.”

Confusion furrows Jaskier’s brow. “When?”

“Earlier. You said they were chasing us for the usual reasons.” Anger tightens Geralt’s mouth, and he cuts off Jaskier before he can squirm his way out of telling the truth. “You insulted a lord by defending a Witcher.” 

“Technically, I defended you first, the insulting came later. Plus, that asshole totally started it.”

Geralt deadpans a look at him. “Jaskier.”

He rolls his eyes. “Geralt,” he returns, imitating Geralt’s raspy voice. “You are my friend. What kind of person would I be if I let people say atrocious things about you?”

“A smart one,” Geralt states, his face dead serious. 

Jaskier softens. “No,” he says, firm and unrelenting. “Some things are worth the risk. You, dear Geralt of Rivia, are one of them.”

Silence rests on their shoulders while Jaskier waits for Geralt to process his words and his own feelings. 

Some moments later, he says, “I don’t understand you.” A slight wonderment lingers around his eyes. 

“I’m not to understand. I’m to enjoy,” Jaskier replies. 

Geralt tilts his head to the side and Jaskier works to keep a delighted smile off his face, because The White Wolf is indeed an apt name for him. Jaskier picks a small twig from Geralt’s hair. “You should let me wash your hair later.”

“Hmm,” Geralt huffs. 

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Using what bath?” He argues. “Your friendship lost us a room for the night.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to explain he knows the bathhouse owner down the road and they’ll be quite safe there. A ruckus of noise and chaos hushes him and Geralt’s arms loop around Jaskier, holding him tight- protected. Muscles squeeze him and heat courses through his entire body. The hard and soft parts of Geralt mold to Jaskier’s body and he wishes their clothes would disappear so their bare skin could touch. Desperation clenches Jaskier’s jaw and he buries his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck. The noise disappears and Jaskier waits for Geralt to let go of him. He waits for the cold that always seeps into his bones after he has to leave Geralt’s embrace to start, only it doesn’t. Geralt’s arms stay. 

Jaskier gazes up at Geralt and soon his eyes stare down at his own. Geralt’s pupils are blown wide so only a rim of the glimmery gold shines in the dim light. A thrill of heat follow Jaskier’s spine then moves straight to his cock. Good god. This man is too beautiful for his own good. 

Short of breath, Jaskier whispers, “Take me.” His heart races while he waits for Geralt’s response.


	2. Until You Made a Lover of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spicy closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to have this story be two chapters, but writer's block is a bitch, so I figure sharing a little at a time is better than waiting until it's all done at some magical future date. Hopefully, my struggle with this chapter doesn't show too much. 
> 
> As always canon is my playground, historically accurate is for researchers, and have fun with my thirst trap.

Geralt stares at him. “Take you where?”

Jaskier gapes, then throws on a smile to hide his emotions. “Yeah… not a place, Geralt. You know, take me… into your arms.”

“You are in my arms.”

Jaskier sighs and rests his forehead on Geralt’s shoulder. “You can’t read emotions other than anger and despair.”

“Don’t forget annoyance and confusion.”

Jaskier smiles and stifles a belly laugh that comes out like a muffled squawk. “You make me laugh. I suppose you know something of joy too.”

“You’re the reason for that.”

Jaskier sucks in a breath, the rims of his eyes watering. “Don’t say things like that while I’m in your arms.”

“I can’t tell you the truth?” Geralt’s brows furrow. 

Jaskier shakes his head. “I’ll fall even more,” he seems to say to himself, quiet and tentative.

Geralt puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “You cannot fall if I am holding you.”

“Fuck.” Jaskier’s voice braids with anger, exhaustion, and hope. “Do you have any idea how much your words effect me?”

Geralt waits a moment, unsure if his question is rhetorical. He spots Jaskier’s pleading eyes, searching for answers he won’t find in Geralt’s face. “Then why do you never listen to them?”

A sarcastic laugh shakes Jaskier’s shoulder. “How did we get here?” he whispers. 

“You stupidly defended a Witcher and got us trapped in a closet,” Geralt recaps. 

Jaskier pulls from Geralt’s embrace. “I know.” Their arms slip from each other until their fingertips drop and Jaskier’s back hits the door. A fierceness crosses his face. “And I don’t regret it.” Words pour from Jaskier and he wishes he could plug the sieve, but there’s no return “You will always come first for me. I don’t care who I piss off; if some asshole disrespects you, I’ll introduce my boot to their ass. You’d rather I’d keep my mouth shut and sit quietly in the corner, but that’s not what you do when you love someone.” Jaskier takes a breath. “When you love someone, you fight for them, especially when they don’t think they are worthy of it. You,” he pauses, lip trembling until he bites it and steadies himself, “will always be worth it.”

Silence descends like a fog in their small closet and Jaskier wishes he could see Geralt better. During his speech, his hands balled into fists, so he shakes them out. 

“I meant what I said,” Geralt says, taking a step toward Jaskier. 

“You’ve said several things tonight,” Jaskier says, his chest tightening. “Quite the chatter bug this evening, really Geralt, you might…

Geralt steps forward so they’re almost nose to nose.

“You, uh, might want,” Jaskier stutters, “To let other people, um, talk.”

“Shush,” Geralt puts his finger to Jaskier’s mouth, “Things like happiness… joy are rare and fleeting, yet you force feed them to an emotionless Witcher every damn day.” He grips Jaskier’s doublet and swings him to the back wall, crowding his space. 

Breathless, overwhelmed, and getting hard, Jaskier revels in Geralt’s words. Warmth curls in his chest and he grabs ahold of Geralt’s waist. 

“But mostly you make me want,” he says, dipping his head to gain access to Jaskier’s neck. 

Tilting his chin, Jaskier hopes Geralt will take all he wants. His fingers dig into Geralt’s clothes and a shuddering breath wracks through his chest. Heat hovers above his sensitive skin, burning through Jaskier’s patience. Geralt’s mouth is so close to him and he craves the wet heat and the sting of his teeth. The heat disappears. 

Jaskier’s about to voice his complaint when Geralt whispers, “I want your mouth first,” then kisses him. 

Oh, fuck yes, Jaskier thinks. A touch chapped, but soft and pliant, Geralt’s lips follow his own. Jaskier moves his hand to cup the back of Geralt’s head and uses the other to slot their hips together. A low groan rumbles through Geralt’s chest and his kissing becomes fierce, demanding. Jaskier opens his mouth to let him inside. Their tongues dance together like they’ve always known the moves and euphoric heat sparks between them. Jaskier pulls back to bite Geralt’s bottom lip, which only encourages Geralt to misbehave. So, he gets a grip under Jaskier’s thighs and lifts him, putting himself between Jaskier’s legs. Pressing his body closer to the bard’s, he takes full control. 

Jaskier moans and pushes his hips forward, begging to get more friction. His body screams for release, but the tension is so sweet. It swirls in his gut and warms his chest and cheeks. Jaskier wants to feel more of Geralt; there are too many clothes in this equation. In the frenzy of need and want, Jaskier’s hands lose their capabilities, becoming a shaking mess of nerves and excitement. He picks at the buckles of Geralt’s armor while Geralt gives Jaskier’s ass a tender squeeze and nibbles on his collar bone. He whimpers and resorts to yanking at Geralt’s wardrobe. 

Geralt sets Jaskier’s feet back on the ground and grabs his hands, steadying them. Geralt remains close and rests their foreheads together.  
“Let me thank you,” he says. Geralt steals a quick peck then gets on his knees. 

Jaskier’s throat squeezes and he tries not to make ridiculous sounds while the Witcher’s heated gaze stares up at him.  
“May I?” He asks, hands resting at the ties to Jaskier’s pants. 

A breathy “Please” is all Jaskier can manage. 

With sure hands, Geralt makes easy work of Jaskier’s pants, sliding them along with his smalls to his thighs. Jaskier watches with disbelief, but the reality of what’s about to take place settles in his mind. 

“You’ve done this before,” Jaskier says without judgment, only surprise. 

“Taken off pants? I do that every day,” Geralt says, mouth quirked. 

Jaskier huffs. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes and so have you. I believe you were in a situation like this last month.”

“I love a good spoiled prince,” Jaskier admits, distracted by the memories of a wild and fun conquest. 

“New rule. Don’t talk about royalty before I’m about to suck your cock,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier flushes, then stoops to card his finger through Geralt’s hair. “Dear, I’ve been dreaming about that mouth for literal years.”

“Hmm.” Geralt lifts Jaskier’s shirt to expose his half-hard dick and swallows it down whole. 

Jaskier squawks and his chest heaves. Arousal coats his skin and his fingers tug at Geralt’s hair while his back arches. “Fuck!” Jaskier moans. He thickens and lengthens while Geralt pulls up and swirls his tongue over his head, then back down again. “You’re incredible. That mouth.”

Geralt hums, but remains focused on Jaskier’s member. Making use of his hands by cupping Jaskier’s balls and grabbing his thigh, Geralt takes his time, relishing each inch of Jaskier. His tongue memorizes him and strokes every nerve. He circles his tongue on the underside of Jaskier’s cock, hallowing his cheeks while bobbing. 

“Oh sweet hell,” Jaskier sighs. “You feel the way my singing sounds.” He looks down at Geralt, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Geralt’s eyes have narrowed in irritation and switch straight into devious. The changes are subtle, but Jaskier knows him well enough to spot them. 

His hand moves from his balls to stimulate his shaft, moving in tandem with his tongue. He repeats these motions until Jaskier’s muscles are tight and blood colors his cheeks and dick. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, yes,” Jaskier rambles, quaking and desperate. Geralt pulls his mouth off and tilts his head, licking a stripe from the bottom to the top. With a drop in his jaw, he swallows Jaskier, slow and steady until he hits the back of his throat. Then he adjusts the angle to take him deeper and works his throat muscles. 

Jaskier screams and pants and begs. “Please, please, you’re so good. Give me everything. I’m so close. So close.”

Geralt doesn’t let up and massacres any hope Jaskier had of keeping his dignity. Not that he had much in the first place. Geralt hums sending a shock of vibration through him and with that he spills down his throat. Jaskier moans and lets loose a nonsense string of syllables.

“Oh, you,” Jaskier pants, “you skilled, gorgeous man.”

“Witcher,” Geralt corrects, standing. He tucks Jaskier back into his smalls and pants, tying them while Jaskier collects himself. 

“Indeed, Witcher.” Jaskier smiles, satisfied. “If I had a coin on me, I’d toss it.”

“If I never heard that song again, it wouldn’t be soon enough.”

Jaskier playfully smacks his arm. “So, speaking of Witcher, does the ‘I’m massive’ mutation apply to all of you?” He glances toward Geralt’s crotch then back up to his eyes, waiting for the hum or a punch to the gut. 

Geralt smirks, leans in close to his ear, saying, “It’d be easier to show you, but here’s not the place.”

Jaskier’s blood burns. “I think I may know one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's anything you'd like to see in this fic, lemme know!! Help me end my writer's block


	3. Take Me 'Cause I'm in the Mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spicy at the bath house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of this short wild ride. Hope you guys enjoy this fic and I live for your comments! thank you for reading
> 
> I've updated the tags to reflect their activities in this chapter, so check them out to make sure you're on board.

They enter the Oasis Bathhouse, which is still bustling despite the late hour. It’s a sizeable place draped with plush curtains and rich fabrics. The front desk glitters and they shuffle toward it, hoping no one from the palace will somehow spot them here. Getting out of there was an adventure that had several close calls and a run in with a sassy cat. Geralt tried to pet it, but when it found its own eyes mirrored in Geralt’s, it spun, smacking Geralt in the face with its tail. After seeing Geralt’s shoulders slump, Jaskier sucked his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing. He thought about telling him he’ll get to pet a cat some day, but decided against it because Geralt hates when people (aka Jaskier) read him. Thanking his past self for not ruining the mood, Jaskier books them a private room. 

“Solange will escort you to your bath. We require payment up front,” the front desk woman says. Her earrings shine in the low lighting. 

“This should cover the cost,” Jaskier says. He pays with the bag of money he nicked from Lord BallsForChin and when Geralt raises a brow, he throws a wink at him. 

“Thief,” Geralt mutters. They move to the bench in the corner to wait for Jaskier’s old friend.

Jaskier shrugs, “He said he’d pay the man who caught the Witcher-fucker, that man is me. And I plan on fucking the Witcher.” He gives him his best salacious smile for good measure. 

“Bard,” Geralt says, low in his voice, smirking, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Are you saying I’m not up to the challenge?” Jaskier says, heated. 

Geralt angles himself toward him. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to fuck a Witcher?” The gruffness of his voice tingles Jaskier’s skin. “You’ve seen me fight. I go for the win with my whole being. I use my every skill to get what I want with the ruthlessness and determination of a starving man. And Witchers,” he pauses, almost pressing their lips together, “We’re famished.” He moves backward, but runs his thumb along Jaskier’s jaw. “You think you have what it takes to fill me?”

Jaskier’s breath leaves him while absolute filth plays through his head. Mouth dry and throat constricted, Jaskier fails to speak and the blush that dusts his cheeks spreads to his neck and chest. The heat has him desperate for Geralt. He wants to meet his challenge and knows he could if any damn words would leave his mouth. 

“Julian Pankratz as I live and breathe,” a woman’s voice breaks their reverie. She walks toward them in a flowing silk robe that shows off her assets but leaves enough to the imagination that it’s worth a good long look. 

“Solange, my love, you are stunning,” Jaskier says, breaking his eyes contact with Geralt to embrace her. 

“Well, I don’t normally greet guests in such casual wear, but I had to see if the bard in bright colors was the one I know.” She switches her focus to Geralt. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier says, attempting to hide the smile that comes over his face every time he says his name. 

“Aren’t you a handsome pair!” She says, then waves a hand, indicating to follow her, “Come. I have the perfect room for you.”

Geralt blinks and throws Jaskier a questioning look, who mouths “it’s the truth.”

They’re lead down a simple hallway and the scent of water and soap grows stronger. At the fifth door, Solange stops and digs a key from her pocket. The door swings open to reveal a large room with a circular bath built into the center. To the side, shelves of soaps, salts, and beauty products catch Jaskier’s eye and he’s eager to get a conditioner perfect for Geralt’s hair. Lit candles line the back wall and dangle from the chandelier. Everything shimmers and screams luxury. Plush towels, fine perfumes, rich carpets, and the finest things Jaskier has seen in months. (And last week Jaskier glimpsed Geralt’s backside, so that’s saying something). 

Jaskier takes in a sharp breath. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

“Only the best for my Jaskier,” she says, gazing at the room with pride, “Anyway, you need a bath. Say goodbye before you leave and if you’re in town tomorrow, please have tea with me.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jaskier says, kissing her cheek goodbye and with that Geralt and him are left alone.

“So old friend or old lover,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier laughs, “Definitely an old friend. We bonded over our mutual love of pussy.”

Geralt stills then shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised by the things you say, but yet…”

“Well, I’m glad I entertain you so,” Jaskier says, hand to his chest. 

“I don’t know if I’d call it entertainment as much as begrudging amusement.”

Jaskier scoffs with fake offense. “One of these days I’ll get you to admit you like me.”

“Maybe on the day you figure out how to fuck a Witcher,” he says, a teasing smile lingering on his face.

“Perhaps today will be that day,” Jaskier bets. 

“Hmm,” he hums, touching the towels as if they have his attention more than this conversation. “Good luck with that.” Geralt studies the room; his eyes lingering on the steaming water. A comfortable silence settles between them while Jaskier watches Geralt unwind, dropping the tension from his shoulders. The candle light glints off the metal on Geralt’s body and casts dramatic shadows on his face that make him both terrifying and beautiful. Two words that Jaskier has always known Geralt embodies to their fullest. He wonders if his imposing uniform adds to the terrifying or if it’s merely dressing.

“You should get naked,” Jaskier says, bluntly. 

Geralt stares at him in silence for a long moment until Jaskier’s words catch up with him and he has the decency to regret the lack of finesse. 

“If you want,” he adds in a quiet voice.

Geralt’s hands reach the buckles on his shoulder armor and undo them. One by one the pieces of black armor drop to the floor. He goes slower than normal, but keeps his same efficiency. Soon, he’s only in his pants, shirt, and boots. Jaskier hopes he’ll go for the shirt next, but is disappointed when he works at undoing the ties of his boots. Barefooted, Geralt stares at Jaskier, lifting his arms to grab the back of his shirt. He pulls it over his head and throws the fabric away. Geralt’s chest is covered in scars, highlighted by the flickering flame. His fair skin glows and soaks in the deepest shadows. Jaskier’s finger itch to run over the light dusting of white chest hair and circle those light pink nipples. Damn, he’s beautiful. 

Jaskier wants to lick each scar and suck red marks into his gorgeous skin. When Geralt’s hands work through the buttons of his pants, Jaskier’s heart pounds and his tongue swipes his upper lip. If Jaskier ever gets to do this again, he’ll spend hours undressing this man. He watches Geralt peal his leather pants off himself, each inch of newly revealed skin Jaskier wants to memorize with his eyes, his mouth. Powerful thighs and delicate ankles, Jaskier could wrap his legs around his waist and know he’d never be dropped. Oh, the things he wants to do. Wants to touch. 

Their eyes meet. Geralt’s are pure fire in this lighting and Jaskier wants to burn in them. Be consumed and devastated. 

“I could write hundreds of ode to that body of yours,” Jaskier says. His gaze goes from shoulder to shoulder, down his chest and stomach, settling at the waistband of his smalls. 

Geralt snorts. “Please don’t. You’d fill them with lies.”

“On the contrary, they’d be the most magnificent tributes to a body sculpted by grief and gods.”

“Go pick a soap for us, will ya?” Geralt turns his back, dropping his smalls. 

Grateful Geralt can’t see him, Jaskier feasts on the sight of his ass until a flush covers his face and chest. Perky, full, grabbable, firm are only a few of the adjectives that come to Jaskier’s mind and his cock stirs in interest. 

Jaskier removes his clothing, walks to the soap supplies, and sniffs each one until he’s found the perfect one: chamomile with a hint of lavender. He grabs a few other bath products for his own hair and in case Geralt will let him wash his. Jaskier sinks into the bath beside Geralt. He breaks the bar of soap in half and hands one to Geralt. 

He sniffs it. 

“Smell good?” Jaskier asks, worried he didn’t choose the right one for Geralt’s sensitive nose. 

“It’s…” he searches for the right word. “Familiar.”

Jaskier nods. “The soap I travel with has chamomile in it.”

Geralt hums and they wash in the quiet, the sounds of the bath house muffled. Jaskier wonders how much Geralt hears and if he never feels alone unless he’s deep in the woods, and even then the next monster is around the bend or Jaskier is prattling on beside him. He hopes Geralt is less lonely now that they spend time together. Witchers deserve companionship and he’ll die convincing everyone of that, especially Geralt. And it’s not like being his companion is such a hardship. Who wouldn’t want to travel with a noble, snarky, kind Witcher with a body worthy of worship? Those broad shoulders, trim waist, thick thighs… Jaskier’s skin heats. He studies the object of his affections: his rare relaxed demeanor and glistening skin. 

“You know how you said you’d like to see me try to fuck a Witcher?”

Geralt raises a brow and waits for Jaskier to continue. 

“Well, I have an idea.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “On one condition.”

“Okay,” Jaskier says, hesitant but desperate to hear what he says next. 

“Let me fuck you later.”

Jaskier laughs. “Yeah, I was planning on that so we’ve got a deal.”

“You have plans?”

“Many, many plans.”

“Tell me them.”

“First, clean up good,” Jaskier flicks a hand toward Geralt, “I don’t want to taste the monsters you kill.”

Geralt huffs, a tiny almost invisible smile lingers on his lips and he obeys, using the soap. Once they’re both squeaky clean, Geralt says, “Now what?”

“Come here,” Jaskier says, crooking a finger. 

In the blink of an eye, they’re an inch apart and Jaskier has his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. 

“Kiss me.”

Geralt angles his head and leans until their lips are a breath apart. He presses them together in a kiss so tender and delicate, Jaskier’s knees quake. Heat simmers between them and ends their innocent exploration, turning it into a boiling mess of saliva, teeth, and satisfaction. Geralt’s tongue plays in Jaskier’s mouth eliciting the softest moans from him. Hands grip tight and pull hair, moans grow louder, and hips rock together, seeking a delicious friction. Geralt ends their kiss to go down Jaskier’s neck with nips and licks. His hands grab Jaskier from behind lift him to straddle his waist. Their cocks collide together, getting what they’ve been craving.

Jaskier moans again then collects himself to speak. “That’s so good, but if you remember there’s something I want to do first.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want to taste you,” Jaskier whisper into his ear, sucking his lobe into his mouth. Geralt shudders in his arms. “Turn around. Put your knees on the step and bend over the ledge.”

Confusion crossed Geralt’s face. 

“I’m gonna eat you out,” Jaskier explains. When a hesitancy crosses his face, Jaskier asks, “Has someone ever done this to you?”

Geralt shakes his head. 

“What a shame! It’s intense, but feels incredible. Do you want to try it?”

Geralt thinks on it. “Yes.” He follows Jaskier’s earlier directions, leaving himself exposed to Jaskier. 

What a sight! Those round cheeks, leaving his puckered hole in shadow. Jaskier runs his hands over Geralt’s backside, encouraging the muscles there to relax and get more comfortable with touch. 

“If you want to stop at any point, let me know, please. I want this to be good for you,” Jaskier says. 

Geralt nods then says yes. He shifts his weight to his elbows, getting comfortable. Good, Jaskier thinks. He kisses down his spine, sucking little red welts with his teeth. Geralt leans into each touch and moves in rhythm with him. Jaskier spreads his knees wider to further expose what he wants to see most.

“You ready?” Jaskier knows Geralt rolls his eyes despite not being able to see it. 

“Get on with it, Bard,” he says, his voice rough and needy. 

Jaskier licks, flat over the entirety in revenge. Geralt sucks in a breath, his back arching. Jaskier continues his work, working short, little licks around the edge, then circling the outside. He does this until Geralt pushes back into Jaskier face, asking for more. He starts light, easing Geralt into a more intense experience and maybe teasing him. A bit. He sucks and laves and works Geralt open. 

“Oh fuck, Jaskier,” he says, voice ragged. 

Jaskier smiles and enters him until Geralt is putty in his hands and mouth. He slips a finger into him, curling it to stimulate that spot. 

A real, gravely moan comes from Geralt. “More.”

Jaskier uses his tongue and finger to hit every nerve Geralt didn’t know he had. His muscles shakes and feet flex, his body so ready to let go. Jaskier adds another finger, pressing harder on Geralt’s prostate. “Please,” he says. 

“Then come for me,” Jaskier responds. He cups his balls while plunging his fingers and tongue into Geralt’s hot, wet hole. 

The orgasm wracks through Geralt’s entire body and Jaskier will never forget the breathy little sounds he makes while coming; his cock won’t. He’s about three strokes and a finger in his ass from coming so hard he blacks out. 

Panting, Geralt turns around and takes Jaskier face into his hands. They collide into a rough, wanting kiss. Jaskier’s fingers scramble to grab onto any part of him. Their tongues entwine between each stolen breath, Jaskier needing air more than Geralt despite his earlier panting. When they separate, Geralt keeps his hands on his face. 

“I admit it,” Geralt says, “I like you.”

Jaskier beams and an indescribable warmth settles over him. Giddy and eager, Jaskier jumps out of the bath. He goes straight for the towels, laying a few on the floor. He bumps into Geralt on his way to get oil. 

“Time for my part of this deal,” he says, looking Jaskier up and down like the starving man he promised he’d be in bed. 

Jaskier shivers in anticipation and his hand fumble the oil bottle. 

“Go lay down,” Geralt says. He takes the oil from him and points his chin toward the towels. “Let me take care of you.”

Jaskier gets settled. The towels are better than nothing, but he wishes, there was a bed. He thought there’d be silk sheets the first they did it. Or it’d be up against a wall outside some seedy tavern where they could get caught if someone turned the corner. He shakes himself out of his fantasies and focuses on the real one in front of him. 

Geralt kneels, then walks his hands forward, so he hovers over Jaskier. He wants to his weight on him, so he wraps his legs around Geralt’s hip, pushing him down. Their hips align and the touch is electrifying. Jaskier moans and his arms curl around Geralt’s back, fingers digging in already. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers, “The things you do to me.” He threads a hand through Jaskier’s hair. 

He pushes their mouths together. A few minutes later, they’re both panting. 

“I need you in me,” Jaskier says. 

Geralt nods, his pupils wide with desire. He cotes his fingers with oil and Jaskier widens his knees to give him better access. Warm fingers trace his sensitive hole and gasps, waiting for the pleasant burn of insertion. Geralt stops. Jaskier opens his eyes to search his face for answers. 

“You look so good like this, so eager and ready for my fingers, my cock.”

“Yes,” Jaskier breaths, “I need it.”

Geralt thrusts one finger inside, working a rhythm that has Jaskier mewling and bucking. He leans forward kissing Jaskier, open mouthed and full of want. He eases a second finger into him, scissoring and keeps a demanding pace, so Jaskier can’t do much more than writhe in pleasure. When he slows enough for Jaskier to catch his breath, his want increases. 

“Get your cock inside me,” Jaskier demands. 

Geralt chuckles. “Have you seen me? You’ll need at least three fingers.”

“Fine.” Jaskier pouts. 

He kisses his temple. “Lark, I promise I’ll have you singing for me soon.” Geralt continues working his fingers, stroking Jaskier’s prostate with the gentlest touch. “Soon, I’ll be in your tight little hole, fucking you so good that you’ll be on the edge of coming.” He slips a third finger inside while Jaskier moans at his words and ministrations. “And when you’re desperate to cum on my cock, I’ll let you.”

“Please, Geralt,” Jaskier whines, “I’m so ready. Fuck me.”

He pulls his fingers from Jaskier and slicks his cock with oil. He aligns himself and presses forward. Jaskier’s ring squeezes Geralt’s head and they both groan. He goes slow, letting Jaskier’s body adjust to him. Jaskier squirms with the new stretch and he breathes through the slight uncomfortableness, which slides into pleasure. Fuck, Geralt feels so good inside him. He claws at his back and tries to get even closer to him somehow. 

Geralt looks at him with raised eyebrows, asking if he’s ready for him to move. Jaskier nods. His body tightens around Geralt, trying to suck him back inside. He thrusts in and slides out. His hips moving with grace.

“You feel incredible,” Geralt says, grunts with a thrust in, “So fucking good.”

Jaskier whimpers and meets his every move. 

Geralt rests his weight onto his knees and lifts Jaskier’s hips. The new angle sends a tingling, wonderful sensation up his spine.

“Yes, yes, oh, fuck,” Jaskier shouts. And Geralt picks up the pace while going a touch harder. Jaskier continues babbling. Little mewls and half-sentences flow from his mouth in a nonstop stream. 

Geralt pulls Jaskier upward to sit in his lap. The manhandling has a thrill surging through Jaskier and he flings his arms over his shoulders to give Geralt more leverage. Jaskier’s cock leaks between them, spreading pre-cum across their stomachs and the slight touches have him desperate for more. He rolls his hips, matching Geralt’s fast pace. The extra friction leaves them both breathless and they pause to keep from coming too soon. 

They go again and explosive heat has them kissing and touching and tearing their nails into each other’s skin. Geralt lays Jaskier on his back again and slows their rhythm. He put a hand between them to jack Jaskier, running a thumb over his head, collecting his pre-cum to ease the way. He synchronizes his hips and hand, then bends to press light bites into Jaskier’s shoulder. 

Want curls in Jaskier’s gut and tightens his balls. “Fuck,” he breathes, “I’m so close.”

Geralt keeps going, driving Jaskier wild with all his attention. His hands are everywhere and his cock stretches him so good. Sweat dampens Jaskier’s chest and his hair line, which only makes him more thirsty for Geralt. He wants to swallow him, but since he’s unwilling to part with his cock where it’s at now, he settles for kissing him. 

Geralt twists his hand over Jaskier’s head and angles his hips so his cock rubs against Jaskier’s prostate. Jaskier holds on tight to him, his breath, stuttering and knowing that he couldn’t stop coming if he tried. He spills, coating Geralt’s hand and his stomach. His eyes roll into the back of head and back arches off the floor. 

Geralt leads Jaskier through his orgasm until he’s ready to speak again. 

“Cum in me,” he says, grabbing Geralt’s ass and pushing him forward and deeper inside himself. 

“Fuck,” he says and a few fast thrusts later, he releases, pulsing and wet. He slowly exits Jaskier and collapses to his side. 

Covered in cum and sweat, Jaskier thinks he needs to bathe again but banishes the thought from his head for now to revel in the afterglow.  
“I’m happy,” Jaskier says, then turns his head to see Geralt, “Are you?”

He thinks for a moment. “I think so. At least I hope so.”

Jaskier takes his answer and nods, curling into Geralt’s chest. He matches his breathing with Geralt’s and listens to his slow heart beat. 

Jaskier gasps. 

“What?” Geralt looks all around, searching for the threat. He’s already sat up, which shoves Jaskier to the side.

“I didn’t get to wash your hair,” Jaskier pouts.

Silence pools around him until Geralt breaks it with a terse laugh. 

“Next time then,” He says, laying back down. 

“Next time?”

Geralt smiles at his big hopeful eyes and tugs him closer. “Yes.”


End file.
